


The Crackpots and These Werewolves

by allyjuice



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), West Wing
Genre: Crossover, Gen, M/M, Pluie the wolf, big block of cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 22:06:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyjuice/pseuds/allyjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Andrew Jackson, in the main foyer of his White House, had a big block of cheese…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crackpots and These Werewolves

**Author's Note:**

> The result of a late night Twitter conversation with [Heidi](http://heidi8.tumblr.com/), [Meg](http://meggitymeg.tumblr.com/) and Toby. First posted to [Tumblr](http://allyjuice.tumblr.com/post/39399989488/the-crackpots-and-these-werewolves-a-west-wing-teen).

By mid-afternoon Toby Ziegler has admitted some sort of defeat and retreated to his office with a fresh canister of tennis balls, muttering dark threats against special interest groups unspecified. Josh has a thing (according to Donna) and so it is left to CJ to take his final meeting. She is rushed and barely has time to glimpse at the folder that Carol thrusts into her hand.

There are three people sitting patiently in the Roosevelt Room. Two men and a woman. CJ’s eye is immediately drawn to the older, stubblier man.

He is quite something. He has the looks of a 1930s matinee idol. His jaw is well-set and there is a fierce expression on his face but he resolutely does not make eye contact with CJ. He has not prepared for his trip to the White House; usually visitors get all dressed up but he is wearing a battered leather bomber jacket that looks like … well … like a bomb hit it.

His companion, who is younger and has close-cropped hair, has put on a suit but it is twenty years out of style and an upsetting shade of brown. Clearly his father’s. He is antsy about something.

CJ recognises the woman immediately of course. She’s met her before.

“Hello…”

She does not, however, remember her name.

“The wolves-only highway? Yellowstone to the Yukon, right?” says CJ. “Pluie, yes?”

The woman is nodding, “Yes and I remember you as well. But I’m not with those guys any more. Things kind of fell apart and, well, we couldn’t get the leverage we needed with the Canadians.”

CJ feels guilty. “The cost of the project…” she begins.

“No, not only the cost. The ACLU didn’t like the idea of a wolves-only highway and they filed a petition on behalf of some reindeer,” says the woman. “I actually work down in California now.”

“I didn’t think there were any wolves in California,” says CJ.

“Maybe I should…. Derek, would you please explain our situation?”

“We’re with the Beacon Hills Wolf Conservancy,” says the one called Derek.

CJ actually knows this place. It’s about three hours upstate from Berkeley. She had a friend in college who lived there. Peter something. 

“My name is Derek Hale and this is Stiles, one of our volunteers.”

“Ease oo eet oo,” says Stiles, whose mouth is full with one of the complementary pastries.

“Go on,” she says. “It’s a wolf sanctuary or something, yeah?”

Derek nods. “Not only a sanctuary but kind of a community project. I employ local volunteers…” there is a beat, “…troubled teens.”

CJ swears she recognises Derek from somewhere.

“Stiles here is actually one of our big success stories,” says Derek.

“Oh ‘es,” Stiles swallows the pastry. “I was totally uncontrollable. It’s basically amazing that I’m not some sort of whackjob.”

“We teach our volunteers not just how to care for our animals, but also instil in them a very deep and lasting respect for both the wildlife and the beautiful surroundings we work in. I actually call them my pack, and I’m like their alpha male. It’s my little joke, you see, because wolves also live in packs and have alphas.”

CJ is pretty sure Derek’s idea of a joke is substantially removed from most other people’s.

“We learn pack management,” Stiles pipes up. “We have this pack, and it’s very important that it is properly managed. Besides the … erm … welcome centre and gift shop…”

“You have a gift shop?” she asks.

“Well, not exactly,” says Stiles. “It kind of burned down and we’re trying to raise funds to rebuild it.”

Stiles breaks off, grimacing, and CJ is suddenly uncomfortably aware that Derek appears to have kicked him under the table.

“What? We totally are,” Stiles protests.

“It’s true that our main … um … facility was destroyed in an arson attack,” says Derek, “and the rebuilding project is high on our agenda, but our bigger concern is a legal one. We’re up against some powerful local interests that don’t see the value in a project of this nature.”

“Well, it’s true that most everyone in this building went to law school but the White House isn’t in the business of giving out free legal advice, Mr Hale,” says CJ.

“You misunderstand me, Ms Cregg,” says Derek. “We’re not trying to hire your staff, but we’re bound up in red tape and we are going to have to fund a civil case if I’m to retain the land we have set aside. A grant of just two hundred thousand dollars would more than cover our work and of course, that would be wonderful.”

CJ considers this is altogether more reasonable than the nine hundred million for the wolf superhighway.

“My bigger concern is that there are some issues with Federal law that work against small charities like my own,” says Derek. “I’ve had my attorney here prepare a summary of some of the changes that we would like you to take into consideration.”

He slides a plastic wallet across the table. CJ opens it and pulls out a neatly stapled and substantial report.

“We appreciate the opportunity to speak with you,” says Derek.

On the way out she stops him at the door.

“Mr Hale.”

Derek turns. “Ms Cregg?”

“It’s only a little thing but I was wondering, did you have a relative named Peter?”

Derek nods, “Still do, ma’am.”

“I think I know him,” CJ smiles. “Well, give him my regards anyway. Are you staying long? If you are I’d quite like to call you and maybe discuss your charity in more depth?”

“We’re flying back first thing in the morning,” says Derek. “I don’t want to be in DC during the full moon and…” he breaks off as if aware he may have said too much, which strikes CJ as odd.

“The full moon? Is that important to wolves? I mean, obviously to werewolves,” she laughs. Is she flirting with Derek? She is uncomfortably aware that the answer may be yes.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms Cregg,” says Derek. Their eyes meet briefly, actually for the first time, CJ thinks.

Stiles, who had left the room, pops back into view. “Derek, I think that door might be to the Oval Office. It’s got all fancy knobs…” The door is to Margaret’s office but CJ keeps quiet.

Derek smiles indulgently, nods his thanks again to CJ and as he walks off down the corridor, puts his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and draws him close.

Well. She needn’t have bothered trying to get his number, then.


End file.
